Chapter 2: Hands and Hunger
The noise of the party was a distant thrum, locked outside the door of their shared room. All Grace could hear was the ragged pull of her own breath and Skye’s, mingling in the charged silence between them. Her hands still gripped Skye’s hips, the worn cotton of her panties soft under Grace’s trembling fingers.
Skye’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, fixed on Grace’s face with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. The playful confidence from the living room was gone, stripped away, leaving something raw and hungry in its place.
Grace released Skye’s hips. Her own hands felt clumsy, foreign, as they fumbled for the hem of her own sports bra. She pulled it up and over her head in one swift, desperate motion, letting it fall to the floor with a soft whump. The cool air of the room kissed her skin, raising goosebumps across her stomach, her arms, her small, exposed breasts.
Skye gasped. A sharp, audible intake of breath that made Grace’s stomach clench. Her gaze dropped, traveling over Grace’s torso with a reverence that was utterly new. Skye was still in her panties and that thin, grey tank top, the outline of her black bra clear beneath it.
Then Skye was on her again, crushing their mouths together. This kiss wasn’t like the one from the game. That had been discovery. This was possession. Skye’s tongue claimed her mouth, hot and insistent, and her hands came up to cradle Grace’s face, holding her there. Grace whimpered, the sound swallowed by Skye, and let herself be walked backwards.
Her calves hit the unforgiving edge of Skye’s bed frame. The impact broke the kiss for a second, just long enough for Grace to sink down onto the mattress, her body yielding. Skye followed, a graceful, powerful motion, settling her weight astride Grace’s thighs. As she did, she grabbed the back of her own tank top and yanked it off, tossing it aside. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, a dark cascade against her tan skin and the black lace of her bra.
Grace looked up, dazed. Her hands lifted, hovered in the air, then finally settled on the solid muscle of Skye’s shoulders. The skin was so warm. She leaned forward, pressing her lips tentatively to the curve of Skye’s neck. She inhaled the scent of her—clean sweat, vanilla lotion, something uniquely Skye. Her mouth moved to the slope of her shoulder, a clumsy, open-mouthed kiss. She didn’t know what she was doing. Every other kiss had been a passive receiving. This was different. She was lost.
Skye noticed the hesitation. She made a soft, understanding sound in her throat. Gently, but with undeniable strength, she leaned into Grace, guiding her down until her back was flat against the rumpled sheets. Skye loomed over her, blocking out the light from the desk lamp, and took the lead.
“Just feel,” Skye murmured against her lips before kissing her again, deep and slow.
One of Skye’s hands slid down Grace’s side, mapping the tight, toned plane of her stomach, the dip of her waist. Her thumb brushed the underside of Grace’s breast, and Grace jolted as if shocked. Skye did it again, then palmed her whole breast, kneading gently before her fingers found her nipple. She rolled it, pinched it lightly, and Grace cried out, her back arching off the bed.
“Skye…”
“Shhh, I’ve got you.”
Skye’s mouth left hers, trailing wet, burning kisses down her jaw, the frantic pulse in her neck, the hollow of her throat. She moved lower, her breath hot on Grace’s sternum, then took one tight, pink nipple into her mouth.
Grace’s world narrowed to that point of contact. The heat, the suction, the flick of Skye’s tongue. It was too much. It was everything. A coil of pure, white-hot need tightened deep in her belly, an ache spreading through her core. Her hips rolled up, seeking friction, finding only the air and the hard muscle of Skye’s thigh beside her. She moaned, a raw, unfiltered sound she didn’t recognize as her own. Her fingers fisted in Skye’s hair, not pushing her away but holding her there, afraid she might stop.
Months of stolen glances, of blushes and confusing dreams, of tense silence in the room after Skye changed—it all erupted, fuel to a fire they’d both been pretending wasn’t there. Skye worshipped her breasts with her mouth, switching between them, her hands now gripping Grace’s hips, holding her down as Grace writhed beneath her.
Finally, Skye lifted her head. Her lips were swollen, her face flushed. She looked wrecked, beautiful. They were both breathing like they’d run a sprint.
Grace stared up, her chest heaving. The words tumbled out, raw and honest, before she could think to stop them. “I want you. Skye, I… I want my first time. With you. I want it to be you.”
Skye’s eyes widened, shock and a fierce, blazing joy warring in her expression. She lowered herself, bracing her forearms on either side of Grace’s head, and kissed her again. This kiss was unbearably tender, a slow promise.
“Are you sure?” Skye breathed, her forehead resting against Grace’s. “Grace, fuck, are you sure?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
“Okay.” Skye kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose. “Okay. Just… you tell me to stop anytime. Any time. You just say it.”
Grace nodded, her throat too tight for speech.
Skye sealed the promise with another kiss, but this one quickly unraveled back into hunger. As their tongues tangled, Skye’s hand began a slow, deliberate journey south. It skimmed over Grace’s quivering stomach, the defined ridges of her abs, and slipped beneath the elastic waistband of her grey boy-shorts.
Grace froze for a heartbeat, every muscle locking. Then Skye’s fingertips, calloused from the gym, found her. They brushed through the damp, soft hair, then lower, tracing her folds, already slick with want.
“You’re so wet for me,” Skye whispered, the words filthy and perfect against Grace’s mouth.
Her finger circled Grace’s clit, a slow, relentless pressure. Grace shattered. A broken sob tore from her lips and her hips jerked off the bed, seeking more, harder, faster. The sensation was unbelievable, a direct line of pleasure that short-circuited every thought in her head. It was nothing like her own hesitant touches. This was knowing, purposeful, and it was lighting her up from the inside.
“Right there,” Grace begged, her voice a ragged mess. “Don’t stop, please, Skye, don’t stop.”
Skye didn’t stop. She kept that perfect, circling rhythm, her eyes locked on Grace’s face, watching every twitch, every gasp. She slid a finger down, gathering the wetness, and then pushed slowly, inexorably, inside.
Grace’s eyes flew open. The feeling of being filled, stretched by Skye’s finger, stole the air from her lungs. It was an intrusion and a completion all at once. She was so tight.
“Fuck,” Skye choked out, feeling her. “You feel… Grace…”
She began to move, a gentle in-and-out, her thumb now resting on Grace’s clit, applying a subtle, maddening pressure. The dual sensation was overwhelming. Grace’s legs fell open wider, a wordless invitation. She was reduced to instinct, to a primal beat of more, more, more. Her heels dug into the mattress, her hands scrambling for purchase on Skye’s back.
Skye added a second finger, and Grace cried out, the stretch a bright, exquisite burn. Skye’s pace increased, her fingers curling, pumping deep, fucking her with a growing urgency that matched the frantic pounding of Grace’s heart. The wet, slick sounds filled the room, a blatant soundtrack to what they were doing.
“Look at me,” Skye commanded, her own breath coming in harsh pants.
Grace forced her eyes open, meeting Skye’s fierce gaze. In that look, she saw months of longing, of hidden jokes and suppressed desire, all crashing into this single, sweating, glorious moment.
“Come for me,” Skye said, her voice guttural. “Let me feel you come.”
It was the permission Grace didn’t know she needed. The coil in her belly snapped. Pleasure detonated, a wave so violent it was almost pain. It ripped through her, convulsing her around Skye’s fingers, arching her spine off the bed in a silent scream. Lights burst behind her eyelids, colors without names. She pulsed around Skye, wave after wave of raw, shattering release, until she was utterly spent, collapsing back onto the sheets, trembling and boneless.
Skye slowly withdrew her fingers, bringing them to her own mouth, never breaking eye contact. She sucked them clean, a slow, deliberate act that made Grace whimper anew, a fresh, tired throb echoing in her core.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing. The world, their old world, was on the other side of the door. In here, everything had changed.
Grace lay trembling, the aftershocks of her climax still humming through her muscles. Skye’s weight shifted beside her, the mattress dipping as she moved. The taste of herself on Skye’s mouth should have felt strange, but it was just another truth in this new, stark reality.
Grace turned her head on the pillow. Skye was watching her, a question in her dark eyes, a nervous tension replacing the earlier confidence. The sight of that vulnerability, in Skye of all people, unlocked something bold and desperate in Grace’s chest.
She reached up, her fingers brushing a strand of sweat-damp hair from Skye’s temple. Then she curled her hand behind Skye’s neck and pulled her down into a deep, languid kiss. It was slower now, syrupy with spent passion, but underneath it ran a new, insistent current.
“More,” Grace whispered against her lips, the word a barely audible rasp. “I want to feel all of you.”
Skye groaned, the sound vibrating into Grace’s mouth. “You’ll kill me.”
“Please.”
With a tenderness that contradicted the filthy request, Skye hooked her thumbs into the waistband of Grace’s grey boy-shorts. She peeled the damp fabric down, revealing the slick, swollen proof of Grace’s release. The shorts joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor, a monument to their shattered normalcy.
Grace was completely bare now, exposed under Skye’s unwavering gaze. She didn’t shy away. She let herself be seen, every taut line of her gymnast’s body, every flutter of breath.
“So fucking beautiful,” Skye murmured, her voice thick.
Skye’s experience was a palpable thing in the room. There was no fumbling, only a devastating certainty in her movements. She began at Grace’s mouth, claiming it once more with a possessive sweep of her tongue. Then she trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses down her neck, across her collarbone.
She took her time. She worshipped the small, perfect swell of each breast, laving Grace’s nipples until they were hardened peaks. Her mouth moved lower, over the tight planes of Grace’s stomach, tracing the defined muscles there with her tongue. Grace squirmed, a new ache building already, a shocking echo of the first.
“Skye…”
“I know. I’ve got you.”
Skye settled between Grace’s thighs, her hands spreading them wider. The cool air hit Grace’s wetness, making her gasp. Then Skye’s breath, hot and deliberate, replaced it. She didn’t dive in. She hovered, looking up the length of Grace’s body, her eyes meeting Grace’s in a searing connection.
Then she lowered her mouth.
The first contact was a soft, flat press of her tongue against Grace’s entire core. Grace cried out, her hands flying to fist in the sheets. Skye ate her out like she was starving, like this was her last meal. She used her lips, her tongue, the faint scrape of her teeth in a relentless, rhythmic assault.
“Oh god, right there,” Grace sobbed, her back bowing. “Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop.”
Skye’s tongue was a ruthless point of focus, circling her clit, flicking it, then plunging deep inside her. The obscene, wet sounds filled the quiet room, a vulgar counterpoint to Grace’s shattered moans. Skye’s hands gripped Grace’s hips, her strong fingers digging into the bone, holding her firmly in place as she feasted.
Grace was incoherent. Words and raw noises spilled from her in equal measure—pleas, curses, fragmented syllables of Skye’s name. She loved every second, this terrifying, glorious loss of control. The pleasure was a white-hot wire, pulled tighter and tighter from her center.
She felt the buildup, faster and more intense than the first time, a tsunami gathering force. Her thighs began to shake violently around Skye’s head. Skye moaned against her, the vibration tipping Grace over the edge.
Grace came with a shattered scream she just managed to muffle by slapping her own hand over her mouth. The orgasm ripped through her, a convulsive, draining wave that left her seeing stars. Skye gentled her tongue, working her through the pulses until Grace’s body went limp, spent and shaking.
Skye rose slowly, her chin glistening. She crawled back up Grace’s body, her expression one of awed possession. She kissed Grace’s stomach, her sternum, the frantic pulse at her throat.
Grace pulled her hand from her mouth, her breathing ragged. She wrapped her arms around Skye, holding her close, feeling the hard beat of Skye’s heart against her own.
“I’ve wanted that,” Skye whispered into her skin, her voice rough. “For so long. You have no idea.”
Outside, a door slammed and a burst of laughter echoed from the party, a reminder of a world that continued to spin. In here, the silence was heavy and new, freighted with everything they had just broken and everything they had just begun.